Ken rose and, not trusting himself to speak, remained silent.
“You sissy!” cried Graves, hotly. “Will you peach on us to Arthurs?”
“No. But if you don't get out of my room I'll hand you one,” replied Ken, his voice growing thick.
Graves's face became red as fire.
“What? Why, you white-faced, white-haired freshman! I've been aching to punch you!”
“Well, why don't you commence?”
With the first retort Ken had felt a hot trembling go over him, and having yielded to his anger he did not care what happened.
“Ken—Graves,” pleaded Raymond, white as a sheet. “Don't—please!” He turned from one to the other. “Don't scrap!”
“Graves, it's up to some one to call you, and I'm going to do it,” said Ken, passionately. “You've been after me all season, but I wouldn't care for that. It's your rotten influence on Kel and the other boys that makes me wild. You are the drag in this baseball team. You are a crack ball-player, but you don't know what college spirit means. You're a mucker!”
“I'll lick you for that!” raved Graves, shaking his fists.